maybe it's not exactly a scent so much as it is an undercurrent that barely caresses the olfactory. i go back in time every year when spring finally shows itself.
another image i get is looking out across the yard while standing at the front of the house under an enormous pine. the sky is the deepest blue and populated with a smattering of fluffy clouds so white, they're beaming. the scent is still there and the air has not yet warmed. i can hear distant lawn mowers rumbling to life and birds chirping above. the grass is cool beneath my bare feet. i think i'm somewhere between seven and ten years old.
i still love floating in my parents' pool and staring up at the edge of the pines where they meet the sky. there's a quality that always reminds me of filmstrips of national parks from the 50s produced in technicolor.
when i was in elementary school, i loved hanging by my knees from the paint-worn parallel bars. i remember convincing one or two other children to give it a try as well. they probably wondered why i would stay that way so long. i wanted them to know my secret. when you were upside down, you could stare straight into the sky. so blue, so gorgeous, you could drown in it. the backs of my hands settled in the grass below and the blood rushed down after them. the playground was at the bottom of a hill. the hill was composed of an eye-catching combination of soil rich in vibrant orange iron oxide and shot through with pockets of clay juxtaposed with emerald green patches of grass. it was interesting going down that steep, craggy hill while wearing white roller skates with orange wheels.